


Good Rhetoric

by claquesous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Asexual Character, Depression, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not-so-platonic Kissing, Platonic Kissing, Polyamory, gratuitous cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claquesous/pseuds/claquesous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are ethos, pathos, and logos. Together they're invincible.</p><p>A series of drabbles and/or one-shots centering around Enjolras, Combeferre, and/or Courfeyrac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre's biological family sucks, but his real one doesn't.

There is something slightly off with Combeferre when he shuts the door quietly behind him. His taut shoulders reek of something darker than stress and the stealth is suspiciously wasted at six in the evening.

Courfeyrac gives Enjolras a worried look and ventures, “Ferre?”

Combeferre turns around. His fists are jammed in his pockets even though they might be more useful keeping his bag on his shoulder or putting the keys on the hook or any number of other things Combeferre usually does the moment he’s in the door. The sunset is shining dangerously into his eyes through the window, and he looks slightly terrifying.

Courfeyrac doesn’t know what’s wrong, but specifics tend not to bother him at times like these. While Enjolras watches, still trying to puzzle out the mood Combeferre is trying so hard to extinguish, Courfeyrac hurries off the couch and approaches him carefully, sure he’s needed but not sure he’s wanted. Combeferre makes no move to stop him, and Courfeyrac eases gently into his personal space. “You alright, doll-face?” He puts a hand to his cheek and when Combeferre doesn’t move he ducks his head to see into Combeferre’s lowered eyes, which are watery and red. “Oh honey,” Courfeyrac breathes, and he wraps his arms around him tightly, murmuring ridiculous nicknames and calming superficialities.

The reaction is immediate. Combeferre’s entire rigid body leans urgently into Courfeyrac’s and he presses his face against his shoulder so hard that if Courfeyrac didn’t know better he’d think Combeferre was trying to push him away. His breaths are hard and fast and suddenly ignite into words.

“ _Dammit_ ,” he screams, muffled in Courfeyrac’s shoulder, “fucking family, refusing to acknowledge a single—” He falters and the words shatter into loud, coughing sobs. Even Courfeyrac is stunned by the violent display of emotion in Combeferre, their gentle, levelheaded guide. What could possibly reduce _Combeferre_ to a shrieking mess? He rubs Combeferre’s back slowly, holding him tighter, trying not to look like he wants to burst into tears at the thought, let alone sight, of Combeferre so unhappy. He fists a hand in dark hair and cradles Combeferre’s head almost roughly as their whole bodies shake with Combeferre’s sobs.

It goes on for a long time. Combeferre cries loudly for a bit, trying to rage, then gives up on the words that Courfeyrac can’t understand anyway and just pumps the contents of his tear ducts into Courfeyrac’s shirt with alarming stamina. Courfeyrac doesn’t know what to do. Normally he would try and get Combeferre to move, to talk _to_ them, to eat something, but this is beyond any level of distress Courfeyrac has ever dealt with in Combeferre, and he senses an overwhelming need to get all this shit out of his system.

Courfeyrac starts when a firm hand touches the back of his head comfortingly; he’d forgotten Enjolras entirely. He casts an anxious look back at him, and Enjolras comes closer, presses his other hand to Combeferre’s shoulder, exuding strength. It makes Courfeyrac feel better, at least. Combeferre reaches out for Enjolras and pulls him into their huddle and eventually starts to calm down, the sobs growing fewer and further between, but he’s still trembling with anger. Courfeyrac pulls back slightly from Combeferre, craning his neck down as Combeferre looks up. Courfeyrac can tell he takes immense solace in the closeness, the heat and the pressure and the constancy, and he pushes his head between Courfeyrac and Enjolras’s faces so he can feel both of them breathe and sway and pulse.

“Thank you,” he whispers, unable to stir his vocal cords. Courfeyrac’s heart breaks for him.

“Of course, my friend,” Enjolras says softly, his powerful voice a distant echo.


	2. The codependence part was an accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre can't sleep alone, but he doesn't have to.

“Courfeyrac’s with Jehan.”

Enjolras makes an affirmative noise. Combeferre steps through the door and shuts it behind him too fast and too quietly. Enjolras muffles a smile in his pillow. The covers lift and cold air shoots under them, followed by cold feet and a warm weight on the neglected side of the bed. Enjolras rolls over and presses himself against Combeferre, to reclaim his body heat and be close to his friend.

“Never thought you’d be the one who can’t sleep alone,” Enjolras chuckles softly, lips tickling Combeferre’s neck.

“Me neither,” he admits, sounding wide awake.

Fingers slip softly into Enjolras’s hair, drawing a contented purr from his lips.

“Your feet are freezing,” Enjolras murmurs, already sounding half asleep.

“Sorry.” He sounds distracted. Enjolras admonishes him with a steadying hand at his jaw and a kiss where his lips are already touching his neck. “Do you ever want to be a part of what Courf and I have?”

Enjolras’s eyes open. The question doesn’t surprise him, but he hasn’t really ever taken the time to formulate an answer. “I like the idea of being close to you, physically and emotionally, but not particularly that of sex. Do you think... participating would bring us closer?”

“I think so, but maybe it would make me feel closer to you and not change anything for you. I don’t really know how your brain works on these kinds of things.”

Enjolras nods thoughtfully. “I think watching you would have the same effect for me as participating, without the physical intrusion. But I think that would be weird for both of you.”

“Maybe,” Combeferre says. He’s curious, more than anything else, and he of all people should know better than to fear his opinion will change Enjolras’s mind, but he doesn’t want to push either way.

“No, I don’t miss it, and I don’t think you two want or particularly need it. Not with me.”

Combeferre blushes and turns to face Enjolras, his hand still buried in his mane. “I would not object,” he admits. “But I do not want it if you don’t.”

“I think I don’t,” Enjolras decides, and things return to equilibrium.

Combeferre presses a soft kiss to Enjolras’s forehead, thinks, puts another one on his lips. “I love you.”

And then he rolls back onto his back, his hand loosening in Enjolras’s curls.

Enjolras kisses his cheek for Combeferre’s sake. “Love you.”

They fall asleep loosely wrapped in each other, Enjolras enjoying the luxury of Combeferre sleeping beside him and Combeferre looking ironically as if he is not the one clinging onto Enjolras for dear life, as Enjolras is the one with his arm thrown over the other’s chest.

When Courfeyrac comes home, he doesn’t even bother looking in Combeferre’s room. He just curls up at the foot of Enjolras’s bed between their legs until Combeferre partially wakes and drags him under the covers.


	3. Agnostic theist problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Combeferre get about as close to fighting as they ever do.

“I’m bored and indignant at the waste of time I am paying for,” Courfeyrac announced. He unceremoniously dumped his religious philosophy textbook to the floor.

“If you hate it so much, why’d you take it? It’s exactly what it sounds like.” Combeferre sounded amused.

“I was hoping to be proven wrong,” Courfeyrac admitted. “The question is that if you couldn’t, why did I think some crotchety atheist could?”

“What exactly do you want proven wrong?”

“My hypothesis that theology is a lazy and cowardly response to materialistic disappointment. People that can’t make themselves happy want to believe it’s for the greater good.”

Combeferre’s jaw tightened. “That’s hurtful.”

“Well, _you_ aren’t one of those people,” Courfeyrac said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Why do you think _I_ believe in God?” Combeferre asked, face carefully blank.

Courfeyrac seemed taken aback. “I think you want to believe ethical action is intrinsically valuable. I mean, I want to too, I’m just satisfied with its practical value.”

“You think I’m naïve.” Courfeyrac sensed Combeferre was angrier than he looked.

“In this particular instance, a little, yes. Sorry, doll-face.”

Combeferre thought about that a moment. “Why do all other theists fall under the other definition?”

“Okay, okay, that was an overgeneralization. The theists in religious philosophy are of the first lot. And the atheists are, quite frankly, dicks. Everyone is unbearable.”

Combeferre’s jaw relaxed, but he chewed his lip. “What about you?” he asked.

“I’m probably a dick, but I like to think I’m a smart one.”

Combeferre shook his head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”

“...Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“At least there’s well-rounded debate in there.”

“You would think so.”

“No?”

“The theists argue till they get fed up and justify their giving up with ‘Only God can change your heart.’” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes spectacularly. “And the atheists poke a little more, and then they give up, and the professor starts another lecture, and the cycle repeats itself at least once a class.”

“Is there no middle ground?” Combeferre asked doubtfully.

“There are varying degrees of agnosticism, but everybody is either theist or atheist, and staunchly so. The theists just can’t pick a god.”

“You’re being a dick.”

Courfeyrac smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. But you should know better than to take generalizations to heart.”

“You should know better than to make them.”

“You’re right,” Courfeyrac said after a moment. “We’re not all sheep.”

“We love too stupidly to be sheep.”

Courfeyrac could not contain a grin. “I love you and your peculiar hopeful realism so much.”

Combeferre smiled reluctantly, changing gears more slowly. “I love you and your weird cheerful pessimism.”

Courfeyrac removed Combeferre’s textbook from his lap (to his credit, more gently than he had treated his own) and climbed into his lap himself, cupping his palms to Combeferre’s cheeks. “You know, I’m never trying to belittle your beliefs. I just... disagree rather strongly. But I don’t think less of you for them.”

“I know,” Combeferre said, his eyes slipping shut as Courfeyrac kissed him fondly. After a moment he pulled back and looked Courfeyrac seriously in the eye. “Do you feel incredible right now?”

Courfeyrac cocked his head, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. “Of course, you’re here. And you’re mine.” A grin started to crook the corners of his mouth.

Combeferre was still straight-faced. “Do you really think that’s all dopamine and oxytocin?”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “We also have brains, you know. I love you with my mind _and_ my body—and if I happen to have a soul, I love you with that, too.”

Combeferre opened his mouth with a touched smile, but Courfeyrac interrupted him with a sound kiss.


	4. Two kinds of joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac is still working out boundaries with Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In most of these chapters, Courfeyrac and Combeferre have a relatively conventional romantic and sexual relationship. Their relationships with Enjolras are not sexual at all, not quite platonic, but not entirely romantic. It's a strange dynamic that Combeferre and Enjolras can play by ear, but Courfeyrac knows he is a little more naturally overstepping, so he's careful to avoid anything Enjolras might not be comfortable with.

Combeferre drifts back to consciousness cold. Courfeyrac’s gone and he didn’t put the covers back after he got out of bed. Struggling not to wake himself all the way up, Combeferre fumbles for the edge of the covers and kicks Enjolras in the process. Reluctantly he opens his eyes and Enjolras’s weary blue eyes are staring back at him, looking decidedly awake.

“Sorry,” Combeferre murmurs, finding the blankets and pulling them back up to their chins. He scoots closer so he can fit his head on Enjolras’s pillow.

“You didn’t wake me up,” Enjolras assures him, a hand light on his waist.

Combeferre frowns. “How long have you been up? Did you sleep at all?”

“About an hour.” Enjolras smiles ruefully. “My brain won’t quit running.”

Combeferre presses his forehead against Enjolras’s, still half asleep. “Can I do anything?”

Enjolras sighs in lieu of shaking his head.

Combeferre shifts closer, cupping Enjolras’s face in his hand and pressing his lips softly to Enjolras’s. “Can I do this?” he breathes into his mouth. Enjolras just kisses him, contently and without urgency, the hand on Combeferre’s waist wandering under his shirt. Combeferre is too tired to find the activity arousing, to his relief, and presses his body against Enjolras’s for the shared warmth and comfort.

“Why has nobody informed me that kissing Enjolras is not off-limits?” comes Courfeyrac’s sleepy grumble. Combeferre and Enjolras share a smile and pull apart enough for Combeferre to smile insolently over his shoulder.

Courfeyrac scrambles into bed and wipes the smirk off his boyfriend’s face with a prompt kiss, another lazy, no-agenda, for-its-own-sake kiss, which at times like these are the best kind. After a moment Courfeyrac abandons Combeferre and climbs half over him to give Enjolras a wet kiss and settle between them, which is on top of them, since they’re still pressed against each other. Combeferre rolls back to his side of the bed and settles against Courfeyrac’s back as Courfeyrac undertakes to kiss Enjolras senseless, which is surprisingly easy to do. Combeferre smirks as Enjolras begins to hum in his throat. The noises grow louder and less intentional as Courfeyrac traces his ribs under his shirt and tugs lightly on his hair. But they’re not moans and four-letter words and the kind of thing you’d hear from Combeferre and Courfeyrac under similar circumstances. They’re sighs and quiet chuckles and amused “Courfeyrac”s. Combeferre wishes, sometimes, that he was more like Enjolras in this respect, but then he remembers the entirely different kind of joy he and Courfeyrac share, the sweltering, urgent, and searing kind. And he is just fine with the way things are.


	5. Never ask Courfeyrac to take off your pants if you don't want that followed to its logical conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Combeferre go shopping. It's about as successful as it ever is.

“Do those fit?” Courfeyrac asked through the door.

“Well technically they’re on, but no, I wouldn’t say they do.” Combeferre sounded like he was running out of patience, but Courfeyrac knew all he needed was a convincing kiss and he’d be good to go for another half hour at least.

“Let me in?”

“Something tells me you just want to see my ass in tight pants.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll-face.” Combeferre unlatched the door and Courfeyrac paraded into the undersized stall. “I’d be happy with just about any ass in tight pants.”

He spun Combeferre around, and he didn’t look like could do much more than waddle in the skinny jeans that Courfeyrac had picked out for him, they were so tight. He couldn’t even zip them. Courfeyrac did nothing to conceal his grin as he pinched Combeferre’s ass. Combeferre yelped and turned to glare at Courfeyrac, who beamed at him wickedly. “Yours is my favorite, though.”

Combeferre pushed his giggling boyfriend back out the door and Courfeyrac waited for the discarded pants to fling themselves over the door. None came.

“Courf? Uh, could you come back?”

“Sure, just maybe open the door.”

The door swung in and Courfeyrac stuffed himself back into the one-person dressing room stall. Combeferre had peeled the jeans back down to his thighs and did not appear capable of making any more progress. Courfeyrac covered his mouth. “You can’t even get them off, can you?”

Combeferre sat down and nudged Courfeyrac’s leg with his foot with an expression that said, “Well then?”

Courfeyrac ignored the extended leg and fell to his knees dramatically between Combeferre’s spread legs. He admired Combeferre’s pale thighs and the erection he had done nothing whatsoever to conceal (there was no point).

“I think I know why they don’t fit,” Courfeyrac said with a remarkably straight face.

“Don’t you dare,” Combeferre hissed, but if the boner wasn’t enough, the husk in his voice made up Courfeyrac’s mind for him. He slipped his fingers under the denim and pulled—and the jeans went nowhere.

Courfeyrac giggled. “How the hell did you get these on?”

Combeferre seemed unamused. “I have no idea.”

Courfeyrac tried pulling at the sides of Combeferre’s thighs, but had no more luck than before. He stood up with a frown. “I thought these were the stretchy kind,” he admitted.

“They’re not,” Combeferre said.

“I can see that,” Courfeyrac smirked. He leaned down and grabbed the pants around the ankles and yanked hard. Combeferre fell off the bench.

“Ow,” he muttered.

Courfeyrac couldn’t help it. He howled. Combeferre glared ferociously. Trying to control himself, Courfeyrac helped him back up and apologized with a kiss.

Combeferre looked down at himself contemplatively. “One foot at a time, maybe?”

Courfeyrac chuckled at his seriousness. “You’re so cute.”

“One at a time,” Combeferre decided. He sat back down and set one foot firmly on the floor as Courfeyrac grabbed one pant leg and threw his entire body weight against it. The jeans slid off one leg and landed Courfeyrac hard on his ass. “Ow,” it was his turn to mutter.

Combeferre smiled saccharinely. “You’re so cute.”

Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out and got to his feet bravely. He yanked the other leg off much more easily, keeping his feet and everything. He whirled the jeans in a triumphant circle and bowed magnificently.

Combeferre tried to reach for his own pants (they were most certainly done for the day), but Courfeyrac grabbed the errant hand and kissed it sweetly, sinking to his knees again with an ungodly twist of his pink lips. Combeferre tensed up deliciously. “You don’t think I have such a short memory, doll-face?”

“I was hoping your common decency might surface,” Combeferre breathed with difficulty as Courfeyrac ran his palms up his calves.

“Nope,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “Let’s just hope your underwear isn’t nearly as hard to remove as those goddamn pants.”


	6. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras's ailments are magically solved by cuddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for not updating, and this was just lying around. Sorry for contributing yet another work to the already gratuitous collection of insomniac!jolras fic.

Enjolras woke at 7:30 like clockwork and sighed. It had been a late night, he was exhausted and for some unknown reason sore, and for once there was not any work that had to be done yesterday. And yet he was awake, and, he was fairly certain, not going back to sleep. Enjolras was intimately familiar with every stage of exhaustion and insomnia, and this was an advanced stage of both. He rolled out of bed and went into the kitchen, looking blankly at the sink as he tried to remember how to make coffee. He’d just reached up for a mug when a hand landed lightly on his shoulder. He turned around and smiled weakly at Combeferre. “Can’t sleep,” they said together, Combeferre’s a question and Enjolras’s a statement.

Combeferre smiled softly and closed the cupboard behind Enjolras. “Come get in bed with us,” he offered. When Enjolras didn’t respond, he reached up and tangled a hand in his friend’s yellow curls, pressing their foreheads together. “It’ll help.”

Enjolras nodded, and Combeferre pressed a quick kiss to his lips before finding his hand and pulling him back to Courfeyrac’s room. He crawled into Courfeyrac’s arms, which immediately tightened unconsciously around him, and held out a hand for Enjolras to join them. Combeferre rolled over and Courfeyrac pressed his face between his shoulder blades as Enjolras lowered himself reluctantly onto the full bed, letting Combeferre pull him closer by the waist and bury his fingers in his hair again, drawing his fingers monotonously, soothingly through it. He felt Enjolras relax bit by bit, letting his knees knock Combeferre’s (or maybe Courfeyrac’s) and resting his forehead against Combeferre’s. Combeferre smiled as he watched Enjolras’s eyes slide shut, and Courfeyrac smiled as he felt Combeferre’s breaths even out.

 


	7. Friends with benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan just needs a good fuck and Courfeyrac is rather tangled up emotionally.

Courfeyrac closed Jehan’s door carefully behind him, guilt eating him inside out. He wanted so badly to spend the night with Jehan, who was lonely and upset and really just needed a good fuck, which was why he felt he couldn’t stay. He’d never had any qualms before about getting Jehan through nasty breakups with all manner of physical and emotional love, but now this thing he had with Combeferre and then Enjolras was a Thing.

It took Courfeyrac less than five minutes to get back to their apartment, but it was too much time to think. He was inordinately stirred up by the time he tossed his keys into the bowl and turned to find Combeferre with Enjolras’s head in his lap, both reading on the couch.

Courfeyrac was astonishingly reminiscent of a cat, minus the lashing tail and arched back. “Is Jehan alright?” Enjolras asked.

“Considering, yeah.” He picked up Enjolras’s legs, flung himself onto the couch, and replaced them in his lap.

“Why are you so mad, then?”

Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre. “I’m not mad.”

Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

“I’m agitated,” he clarified.

“Why? Was Jehan’s boyfriend somebody you liked?”

“No, I just—” Courfeyrac sighed at the ceiling. Why did this have to be such a conflict of interest? He should just do whatever the hell he wanted with his own body. But then he really didn’t want to hurt Combeferre’s or Enjolras’s feelings, and if he was honest with himself, that was way higher on his priority list than free will. “You know how Jehan and I had an on-and-off friends-with-benefits thing going for a while before this? He refused to ask me out,” this said with an air of utter bewilderment, “but every once in a while when he was feeling lonely or generally shitty he’d ask me to come over and we’d kiss or fuck or whatever he needed.”

Combeferre nodded. He’d vaguely understood what went on between the two, and it thankfully hadn’t discouraged his interest in Courfeyrac in the least.

“He needs that now, but I wasn’t sure what you guys would think about that.”

Combeferre glanced down at Enjolras. “You’re not bored, or anything, you just want to help Jehan out?”

Courfeyrac nodded, relieved. “This has nothing to do with you two being enough for me or whatever, this is for Jehan.”

“Well, of course you should help him,” Enjolras said. Combeferre nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for asking,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac knew it to be a sheepish admission of jealousy averted. Courfeyrac leaned over Enjolras for a kiss and Combeferre leaned in with a smile.

Courfeyrac felt infinitely better when he found himself back outside Jehan’s door, this time with a pint of melting strawberry ice cream under his arm. Jehan looked even more grateful than surprised to see Courfeyrac back so soon.


	8. Constructive violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras needs an outlet. This is Tumblr user punksette's fault.

When Enjolras got home from work, he was less than pleasant. One of his technical-but-by-no-means-in-practice superiors had antagonized him all day long, and he for once in his life had managed to keep his mouth shut. Mostly because the asshole was shitting all over Enjolras as a person rather than what he believed, which was infinitely more palatable to Enjolras, but still not pleasant.

Of course, all Combeferre could get out of him was along the lines of, “Just some trouble at work today,” and it did nothing whatsoever to relieve his desire to punch something. And it just kept building up, first manifesting itself in the vague sense that someone was yelling at him. The imaginary voice kept getting louder and angrier until he was exercising all his self-control trying not to lash out physically, anything to stop the ferocious shouting trapped in his head.

Combeferre touched his arm and Enjolras realized his eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw clenched. He forced himself to relax, smiling apologetically at Combeferre, but it didn’t really work.

“Can I help?”

Enjolras was just about to tell him no, but then Combeferre had to put a comforting hand on his neck, and another thing to do with his feverish energy crossed his mind. “Yes,” he breathed, and before Combeferre could begin to fathom what was going on, Enjolras had swung a leg over him and kissed him harder than either of them had ever kissed anyone before. Enjolras’s hands were locked into the hair at the nape of Combeferre’s neck and he was pulling at his lip with his teeth, and Combeferre’s hands were fluttering uncertainly at his waist before he returned the onslaught of teeth and tongue almost as fiercely. Something hard was digging into Enjolras’s eyebrow and the bridge of Combeferre’s nose, and Enjolras pulled back abruptly. Combeferre’s glasses were tangling from one ear and half off his nose. Enjolras impatiently whipped them off and met Combeferre with another barrage of bruising kisses. Combeferre was plainly bewildered, but played along. He tried to reciprocate the roughness at first, but the kisses gradually became gentler, no less involved but less feral, more tender. They kissed like a conversation that had begun as a screaming match and somehow turned into affectionate whispers. Only then did Enjolras withdraw, reluctant to deal with the reaction to his inexplicable behavior. On second thought, Enjolras leaned in to lap at Combeferre’s lip tentatively, eyes fluttering over his friend’s face. But he sensed the desire for an explanation, so he sat back on Combeferre’s thighs with a sigh.

“Thank you. For letting me be weird and emotionally horny.”

Combeferre smiled. Anyone else would have laughed outright at that sentence from Enjolras, but Combeferre was familiar with the more undone side of their fearless leader.

“I just really needed to be violent in a nondestructive way.”

Combeferre nodded. “I think we have found the solution to that.”

Enjolras chuckled incredulously. “You mean I can do that again?”

“Anytime, dear heart.”

Enjolras smiled softly and brilliantly and thanked Combeferre with a smiling kiss that Combeferre returned, smile and all.


	9. Ace-boyfriend problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac just wants to share all the parts of his life with Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure I'm not ace, so if any part of this screams ignorance, please let me know.

When Courfeyrac opens his eyes he’s packed into the bed like a sardine, his boys pressing in on him from both sides. He smiles and lies there for a moment, deciding which of them to wake (kiss) first.

Enjolras wins when he rolls over and unconsciously tucks his head against Courfeyrac’s bare shoulder, a faint snore snagging in his throat. Courfeyrac kisses his hair, dragging a hand through it with a smile. Enjolras’s hair might be Courfeyrac’s favorite thing about him. No, he decides when he scratches his scalp lightly and Enjolras makes a cute noise. It’s definitely his favorite thing. Especially in the morning. He kisses Enjolras’s hair again, then his forehead. He wrestles his arm out from under Enjolras and loops it around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Morning,” comes his sleep-muddled voice, muffled against Courfeyrac’s shoulder.

“Good morning, _mon bel ange_ ,” Courf whispers back, rubbing his back. He buries his nose in Enjolras’s curls and Enjolras hums contently, shifting closer and curling an arm across Courfeyrac’s stomach.

They just lie that way for a while, Enjolras maybe floating in and out of sleep, Courfeyrac smiling and petting Enjolras’s head. He could stay here, squished between his two favorite people in the world, for literally longer than forever, but the urge to kiss one or both of them is getting harder and harder to resist.

So he doesn’t try. His fingernails graze the back of Enjolras’s head again as he leans down and kisses his hair, his forehead, his nose. He can’t reach any further without _moving_ , but Enjolras smiles and turns his face up to allow Courf to kiss his eyelids, his cheek, his lips. Courfeyrac sighs happily and Enjolras practically glows with the affection. It’s rare and beautiful enough to see Enjolras completely relaxed like this; when you kiss him, he’s simply blinding. Of course, that only makes Courf want to do it again, and again and again (and again), so he pulls Enjolras onto his chest and kisses him properly. Enjolras laughs softly and glances over at Combeferre, still fast asleep, shoulder-to-shoulder with Courfeyrac.

“He’s next,” Courfeyrac whispers conspiratorially, and Enjolras lays his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, his breath tickling Courf’s neck. Courfeyrac’s eyes slide shut and his arms tighten around his narrow waist. Enjolras’s hand cups Courfeyrac’s neck, and Courfeyrac wishes he’d lay butterfly kisses all the fuck over his body, and he sighs.

Enjolras lifts his head to look curiously into Courfeyrac’s eyes and cocks his head. “What?” He looks concerned, and Courfeyrac smiles apologetically.

“Would you ever let me make love to you?”

The concern in Enjolras’s eyes is replaced with thoughtfulness. “You know I don’t work that way, Courf.”

Courfeyrac looks abashed. “I know, I just—I know some asexual people don’t want to have sex for the sake of sex, but they still enjoy it because their partner does. Or I’ve heard that. Any chance you’re that kind of ace?”

Enjolras gives a wry but soft smile. “If I was that kind of ace, I would have already slept with both of you.”

Courfeyrac pouts to hide the frown.

“I think I really do understand how much it would mean to you, and I’m sorry I can’t give it to you.”

Courf blushes. “No, no, no, don’t apologize. I love you because you’re you, not in spite of it.”

Enjolras relaxes, releasing tension Courfeyrac hadn’t even noticed building up. “I love you too.”

Courfeyrac kisses him softly, slowly, fingers running through his hair. He loves the way Enjolras reacts to kisses. He gives himself over beautifully to the affection, or rather to the bestower thereof. Courfeyrac pulls back with a smile smile, the sight of Enjolras flushed and dazed more beautiful than he can articulate.

“You know it’s not that I need sex to have whatever kind of relationship this is.”

Enjolras takes his time focusing his eyes. A grin splits Courfeyrac’s face in half.

“I just want to make you happy so badly, and my brain just refuses to understand that you don’t need sex for this kind of intimacy.”

“I didn’t know that,” Enjolras says softly. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Well at least one of us understands how the other feels,” Courfeyrac rolls his eyes with a smile.

Neither of them catch the way Combeferre’s breaths deepen and the line of his mouth curls up at the corners. Courfeyrac’s eyes fall shut with a happy sigh when lips smile against his pulse. Enjolras smiles sleepily, warmly, and he leans over to press his hand to Combeferre’s cheek before giving him a serious kind of kiss on the temple. Combeferre can’t help but smile wider, burying his face in Courfeyrac's neck shyly.

Courfeyrac wiggles in delight. "My boyfriends are so wonderful," he sings, hugging Enjolras tighter and nuzzling Combeferre’s hair. "Move so I can reach your mouth with my lips, doll." He encourages a barely conscious Ferre with a pat on the butt.

Combeferre reluctantly backs up enough for Courfeyrac to turn his head and smile into his eyes for a long moment before pulling Combeferre closer again to leave light kisses up and down the meridian of his face. Enjolras contents himself with listening to Courfeyrac's heartbeat jump and fall, happy that he was a significant part of the accelerating. Combeferre tangles a hand in Enjolras’s hair and Enjolras curls an arm and a leg around Combeferre while the other two kiss, almost as tangled up physically as they are in every other way.


	10. Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some platonic kissing and corny old hipster pet names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set chronologically before most of these chapters, before they're all a trio.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre asked softly with a small smile. The last time he'd looked up Enjolras was wide awake and flipping rapidly through his book. Now his book was in his lap and his eyes were shut and his head was starting to sway.

Enjolras made an inarticulate "No" noise and Combeferre shook his head.

"I think it's time for you to go to bed, dear heart."

Enjolras peeled open one eye to smile faintly at the pet name. "Why do you call me that?"

Combeferre shrugged. "I'm feeling affectionate and I like dear heart. Would you rather be doll-face?"

Enjolras's eye slid shut again as he shook his head. "Am I supposed to have one for you?"

Combeferre couldn't quite see Enjolras indulging in name calling. "I have Ferre," he shrugged.

"But everybody else calls you that too." Enjolras peered through a slitted eye at him again. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

Combeferre shrugged again.

"Yes it does," Enjolras decided.

Combeferre smiled fondly. He put his book aside and took Enjolras's book out of his lap, marking the spot before setting it aside. He gathered Enjolras's hands in his own and pulled gently, but there was no cooperation to be found.

"Enjolras, come on," he groaned. "We both need to go to bed."

"Join me, then." A faint smirk was all that gave away his consciousness.

"I will wake up with a crick in my neck no matter which part of my body goes in your lap, I don't think that's happening."

Enjolras sighed and opened his eyes. "Then don't put anything in my lap." He threw his legs up onto the couch and circled Combeferre's waist with his arm, tugging.

Combeferre sighed and grabbed a pillow from the armchair to stuff under Enjolras's head before tucking himself into the ledge left for his body. "I'm going to end up on the floor," Combeferre grumbled as he laid his head on Enjolras's arm.

"I’m afraid sleeping on your back is not an option tonight, beloved."

Combeferre turned to face Enjolras, looking slightly up into his eyes, and slung an arm around his waist in an attempt to stay aboard the couch. "Is that better?" he asked dryly.

"Much," Enjolras breathed, kissing his friend on the forehead.

After a quiet moment that could have been accounted for by bedtime but during which neither shut their eyes, Combeferre craned up to catch Enjolras's lips with his own in a curious kiss.

The marble statue's lips were soft and warm and wet, as it turned out, and Combeferre couldn't pull away. Enjolras didn't either, not immediately, and they kissed tentatively for a few moments until Enjolras felt compelled to clarify something.

"My friend—beloved"—he smiled beautifully, and Combeferre almost surged forward to kiss him again. "I sense that now is probably not the best but albeit a wise time to tell you that I'm asexual."

Combeferre laughed warmly. "Don't worry, I don't have any designs of that sort on you."

Enjolras frowned like he wasn't sure whether to be insulted, then noticed the slight emphasis on "you." The corners of his mouth curled up. "Who then?"

Combeferre smiled a hair sheepishly. "Courfeyrac."

"Oh." Enjolras had expected more of a never-to-be-acted-upon crush, but of course Combeferre didn't have those, or at least never admitted to them. "Are you going to tell him?"

Combeferre shrugged. "Eventually. In the meantime I'm hoping he'll figure it out or develop interest of his own."

Enjolras mused on that for a moment before kissing Combeferre again. Enjolras's hand cupped Combeferre's cheek and Combeferre pressed closer to the comforting warmth of his friend's body.

Finally they broke apart, pink-cheeked and wet-mouthed, and they smiled sleepily at each other for a long moment before Combeferre tucked his head under Enjolras's chin and Enjolras wrapped his arms around him. They woke up together (which both of them rather enjoyed and kind of wanted to do for the rest of the foreseeable future) and they weren’t even sore.

 


	11. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre has a moment where he thinks it's going to get bad again for Courf and it scares the shit out of him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's nothing about Courf with depression in any of the other chapters, and the reason is that this is only a side-headcanon, and I don't write it very often. The parts of this story are supposed to happen in the same verse, and for the most part they do, except for variations like this. If this story were consistently about a character with depression, I would not be pulling it in and out of the closet so freely. It deserves to be treated as its own aspect of the story, it's just nota priority here.

It’s stupid. Courfeyrac couldn’t be more aware how stupid it is. And yet.

Combeferre and Enjolras went to a movie without him about an hour ago.

God, so stupid.

Courfeyrac knows they simply thought he didn’t want to go, which he did in fact say a couple days ago.

 _So_ stupid, and yet here he is trying desperately not to cry onto his keyboard.

They find him staring dead-eyed at a dark screen forty-five minutes later, and look at each other with concern.

He doesn’t register their presence until Combeferre touches the back of his head with a gentle hand. “Alright, sunshine?”

Enjolras sits on the arm of the chair and finds Courf’s hand with his own. That’s when the world unpauses and proceeds to crash and burn around him.

Enjolras closes the laptop and puts it on the coffee table, never dropping Courfeyrac’s hand, which is now squeezing his urgently.

“Hey, sunshine, hey.” Combeferre is kneeling beside the chair, touching his face with his smooth, warm hands and then his fingers are wet and then Courfeyrac’s hands are being pulled, trying to coax him out of the chair. He manages to stand up and let himself be steered to the bedroom, where he collapses onto the bed and sobs. Bodies are beside him immediately, beloved hands touching him, rubbing his back, curling around him protectively, like they can protect him from himself. Lips are in his hair, on his slippery cheeks, his ears, his neck, and he cries harder because he knows they love him and it still doesn’t help.

* * *

Courfeyrac doesn’t often cry like this unless he’s getting bad, and it scares Combeferre to death. He wants to kiss the bad and the dark and the ugly a thousand miles away and he can’t and it’s killing him, and he can tell it’s killing Enjolras too, all the more so because he doesn’t understand depression the way Combeferre does. Doesn’t understand how their sunshine can get swallowed up by the illusion of hopelessness and not be able to reason his way out.

Combeferre cradles Courfeyrac’s head against his chest and tries not to cry. He doesn’t get it either, but he understands how hard it is to get out of. So he doesn’t try to tell Courf everything will be alright even though he knows it will be, because he knows it won’t help Courfeyrac at all.

Instead he does everything he can, not just talking, to make sure Courf knows neither of them are going away. Combeferre gets on one side of him and Enjolras on the other, just out of instinct, and they wrap him in their arms until the three of them are completely indistinguishable as separate sets of limbs. He feels Courfeyrac relax, though he still feels heavy in their arms, and he lays more kisses on his soft lips.

Finally Courfeyrac lets out a shuddering breath. “Thank you guys.”

“What happened, Courf?” Enjolras asks softly. “Can we do anything?”

Courf shakes his head silently, trying to quench the sobs. “You guys didn’t do anything. I was just alone and I didn’t want to be and it upset me more than it should have.”

Enjolras buries his face in Courf’s hair. “Sorry, we left you alone.”

“You guys didn’t do anything,” Courf insists again.

Combeferre pats his chest soothingly. “It doesn’t matter whether it was our fault; if we can avoid triggering this kind of feeling, of course we’re going to try.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes threatened to tear up again, this time in relief and love for his friends. “Thank you,” he whispers again.


	12. Christmas cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras bribes Courfeyrac on Christmas.

Enjolras was an erratic sleeper at best, often an opportunistic napper and an accidental hibernator at times. Sleep was towards the lower middle of his priority list, so he often stayed up way later than he should just so he could have something done sooner than later.

Christmas Eve, though, he was in bed like clockwork by midnight. The rule in the house was that nobody could wake anybody else up before seven, which was a begrudging concession on Courfeyrac’s part accepted generously by Enjolras. Courfeyrac would gladly have slept (and done other things in bed) till well into the noon vicinity, and Enjolras rarely slept past nine on normal days. Combeferre found watching this debate too amusing to interrupt with his own opinions.

It wasn’t even the presents that got Enjolras so excited. He’d grown up a pretty damn spoiled only child, so the presents were never lacking. But he associated the Christmases of his later childhood with close friends, particularly Combeferre. Their parents had sought company for their only son at times when he was needed to behave as soon as he got old enough not to do so, and Combeferre had quickly become his closest friend. Courfeyrac was added to the mix when they were twelve, and since then, Christmas in Enjolras’s mind has involved seeing his two favorite people in the world with magnificent bedhead and huge smiles on their faces.

So against Courfeyrac’s wishes, as much as he loves him, Enjolras sets an alarm for seven every Christmas, and descends upon the bedrooms of his friends as soon as it goes off.

* * *

Combeferre wakes abruptly but gently to the dip of the bed, and he makes a quiet interrogative noise at the movement. Enjolras’s yellow hair fills his slit-eyed vision as his lips press to Combeferre’s temple in answer, and Combeferre smiles. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs as Enjolras crawls over him to snuggle up against Courfeyrac, who requires the most cuddling to wake up early.

Courf makes an annoyed-but-not noise and traps Enjolras with arms around his waist without even opening his eyes, and Combeferre presses closer against his back, kissing his neck.

“Merry Christmas,” Enjolras tells them both, effort evident in his voice to stay quiet. At Courfeyrac’s exasperated sigh, he kisses him, then again. He ruffles Courfeyrac’s hair and scratches his scalp lightly, and Courf’s growl turns into a purr. Enjolras grins triumphantly and kisses him again on the nose as he keeps drawing his hands through Courf’s hair. “We can’t open presents or eat until you get up,” Enjolras says convincingly.

“Food,” Courfeyrac whines indecisively.

“Stockings,” Enjolras whines ecstatically.

Combeferre just chuckles.

“I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes,” Enjolras bargains.

Courfeyrac makes a noise of mild anguish.

After a pained silence, Enjolras continues reluctantly, “...before presents.”

Courfeyrac sits up with much ado and general whining, but shuts up when he gets consolation kisses from both sides. “I love you guys,” he grumbles.

Combeferre kisses his neck repeatedly. “Love you too, sunshine.”

Enjolras kisses him and scratches through his hair gently. “Love you.”

Courfeyrac does not seem to regret waking up. He rolls out of bed and stretches. “Okay. Christmas pancakes?”

Enjolras sighs loudly. “Alright, you unbearable spoilsport.”

“Will you make pictures with the chocolate chips?” Combeferre pleads, and Courfeyrac giggles.

“You two are seriously the biggest spoiled babies ever, and _I_ was the only child.”

 


	13. Valentine's day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courf and Ferre's first Valentine's day with Enjolras officially in the mix.

Courfeyrac was getting sick of looking for Valentine's cards. They were all first of all, super heteronormative, and second of all, super monogamous. It was getting on his nerves. Finally he ripped a silly blank dog card off the shelf and jammed it temperamentally into its envelope. He had much better luck in the beanie baby section. Enjolras got a cute fluffy little lion, and Combeferre got a fucking adorable little badger. It was fucking perfect.

* * *

Combeferre was not having much more luck. He'd taken to Barnes and Noble in search of Valentine's Day gifts as he was given to do in the face of any semblance of a holiday, and he was trying to find his partners something new, something remotely pioneering in some way or another, something inventive, something dangerous. But he found nothing of the kind and had to restrain himself from buying them _50 Shades of Gray_. Courf would howl, but Enjolras would be furious if Combeferre paid someone money for those books. Finally he just picked two books with dragons on the covers from the Sci-fi/Fantasy section. Dragons were never the wrong answer.

* * *

Enjolras forgot about Valentine’s day until the day before, only rescued at the last second by Grantaire’s grumpy remarks about yet another of America’s culturally patchwork holidays. He wondered how much of the grumpiness was aimed at him. He ducked out of the meeting early that night, ditching Combeferre to ride home with Courf, and beelined for the nearest grocery store. He had quite a fun time trying to smuggle multiple packs of red velvet cookie dough, an Emperor-sized bag of Sweethearts, and roses, but he succeeded.

* * *

Courfeyrac’s phone dragged him and Combeferre out of the most delightful night’s sleep into the real world. “Why can’t Valentine’s be an actual holiday?” he mourned, burying himself in Combeferre’s chest hair. Said hairy chest shook as Combeferre laughed sympathetically.

“Sorry, sunshine.”

“Wait!” yelped Enjolras from somewhere down the hall. Combeferre and Courfeyrac gave each other baffled looks. “Okay, come out here… beloveds?” The little curl of a question made Combeferre smile hugely. He rolled heavily out of bed and dragged Courfeyrac with him.

Combeferre was excited already, because Enjolras surprises are the best, but even he hadn’t been even slightly prepared for what lay before him. Enjolras, hair even more disheveled and crazy and beautiful than usual, stood triumphantly in their kitchen, spatula in one of this crossed arms. On the table there were fresh pancakes, red velvet cookies next to red velvet cookie dough—Combeferre could feel Courfeyrac start to tear up—and a bowl full of Sweethearts (like a cereal bowl, not one of those cute little bowls people but M&Ms in), with a fat bundle of roses in a vase in the center.

Courfeyrac flung himself at Enjolras and flung his arms around his neck, squeezing until Enjolras coughed. “You are ridiculous and I love you.”

Combeferre chuckled at Enjolras’s happily bewildered look. “What?”

Combeferre shook his head. “This is just more than we’ve done for each other since we’ve been together,” he said, beaming. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Enjolras blushed. “Is Valentine’s day _not_ the be all and end all of the non-single person’s life? Because it purportedly is for the single person’s life.”

Courf laughed exuberantly and roped Combeferre into the group hug. “It is now, _mon ange_.” He kissed them both thoroughly; time stopped for them and then resumed as the huddle loosened. “Alright, my turn.” He disentangled himself and ran to his room, where Combeferre heard the banging of drawers.

He returned a few moments later with a card in his mouth and something tucked behind his back. He presented the card to Enjolras, who, ironically, howled. Even Courfeyrac looked confused, so he explained, “It’s Combeferre when you rearrange his bookshelves.”

Courf buried his face in Combeferre’s chest again. “It is,” Combeferre agreed.

“Never again,” Enjolras promised solemnly, and Combeferre’s “Never.” sounded vaguely threatening.

“Open it,” Courfeyrac urged, and Enjolras read it aloud. “‘Thank you both for making my life so great that for the first time I’m considering investing in religion to make it last forever.’” Combeferre smacked him fondly, and Courf giggled delightedly.

“You know I’m not being serious,” he assured Combeferre, kissing him softly.

“Yes, I know, you little shit,” Combeferre answered with another kiss.

“Little shit indeed,” said Enjolras. “We don’t need our lives to last forever to enjoy this! That would take all the fun out of it entirely!”

Combeferre petted Enjolras soothingly, smiling. “Alright, my turn.”

“No, wait! I’m not done.” And Courfeyrac was whipping out an adorably bedheaded stuffed lion and presenting it to Enjolras, who looked like he was going to melt.

“It’s so soft,” he marveled, crushing it to his face.

Courfeyrac turned, grinning uncontrollably, to Combeferre, presenting his badger.

Combeferre beamed. “You are so wonderful.” The smile disappeared. “If you make one fucking—”

“Honey badger don’t give a shit how much you hate him,” Courfeyrac protested loftily, then crushed badger and man in a huge hug.

“Alright, _now_ it’s my turn,” Combeferre declared, and ducked back into his room (rather, the room he used to sleep in) and reemerged with two book-shaped packages.

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said fondly, and Combeferre shot him an insincerely dirty look.

He handed one to each. “I bought these kind of haphazardly, so swap or share if you are unsatisfied.”

They ripped open their books, and Courfeyrac shrieked with delight as soon as he saw the dragon. “How did you know—”

“That you’re always in the mood for dragons?” Combeferre said with a smirk. Enjolras was still trying to contain himself from the lion, so the book did it, and he bullied them into a big, suffocating hug that swallowed short little Combeferre whole.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Enjolras said softly. “You keep me sane, keep me company, keep me alive. You two are the main reason I have any self-preservation at all—and Combeferre, you know that at one point in my life I did in fact have even less, so you can vouch for this.” Combeferre nodded solemnly, feeling like they were in a group prayer. It was nice to think of it that way. A prayer to their loved ones. “Please never, ever leave me,” he said.

“Never,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac said in unison, fervently serious.

“I love you, beloveds.”

“I love you, _notre ange_.”

“I love you, dear heart.”


End file.
